the rules of propriety (the death of desire)
by Sassassassin
Summary: "There are whispers, my lord." "Then let them be." Non-Canon compliant, Arya/Gendry after the war.


_**the rules of propriety (the death of desire)**_

* * *

When they first met her, the people of the Stormlands didn't know what to think of her.

This whirlwind of a Lady, thought to be a myth for the longest time, came knocking at their door with the determination of a King demanding his throne. She requested their Lord, claiming to be the princess of the North. Although they were civil, tensions were still present between the six kingdoms and the North, and the men were torn between abdicating to the demands of the sister of the Queen their Lord seemed to be a close friend to, and sending her away for her association with the rival of the Queen of the realm.

Aegon Targaryen, more commonly known by the name of Jon Snow, had long renounced his claim on the throne with the condition of the North's independence. Daenerys nearly beheaded him, her prized throne blinding her good sense, and he found himself in the dungeons for moons after that.

The Queen felt unloved, her allies dead or imprisoned, her hand's words falling into deaf ears.

"_My Queen, you do not want the liberated people of King's Landing to suffer again. Be the just Queen you want to be."_

"_The words of my house are fire and blood, who am I if I do not stand by them? That is how I will take what is mine, even if I have to burn down the whole city."_

The resources at King's Landing had been scarce after Cersei's defeat, and the Queen's army was depleted following the battle of Winterfell. Before she could blink, the entirety of the North, accompanied by Stormlanders and a few other southern houses, were knocking at her door, led by Sansa Stark, then the Lady of Winterfell, standing proud next to the Night's Kingslayer. They were threatening a siege in exchange for the life of the man who had united the living against the dead.

Her two dragons had been posted atop the Red Keep, the Queen seated on Drogon's back, eyeing the men standing idle. They had camped at the gates for nearly a fortnight, getting restless but nonetheless peaceful.

It was only fifteen nights in when the Queen had gone to her chambers, her loyal guard Grey Worm posted at her door, that the realm saw a shift.

Before she could rest her head on the featherbed, the Valyrian Steel of the dagger that put an end to the Long Night was pressed against the skin of her delicate throat.

"_Our people follow Sansa and Jon for honour. Our family has had honour instilled upon us for generations. Yet, our past does not dictate who we've become. Sansa is on her way to become Queen, Jon is the most respected bastard of the Seven Kingdoms, and I'm far from the Lady my late mother wanted me to be; we make our own way. Do you want to be what everyone wants you to be, the Mad Queen your father set you to become, or be the breaker of chains you claim to be?" whispered the voice into the night. _

"_They love him," she spoke back, her voice unwavering. "They love him and fear me." _

"_My brother does not want to be King. He wants peace."_

"_It is not about what he wants. It's about what the people want. How can a Queen lead those who want someone else?"_

"_You claim to care about what the people want, but what about what the North wants? You helped us defend the North, and we rode here for you, because we chose to believe Jon when he spoke of you with devotion in his words. He loved you, you know. He saw something in you that many of us refused to see. Do you want to prove the people who hate you right, and the one person who loved you wrong?"_

_The Queen looked silently into the night, suddenly tired and not so angry anymore. _

"_You would have made a fine hand," she proposed._

_The voice chuckled, pressing the dagger further into Daenerys' skin until she drew blood. "I am not for diplomacy, I prefer action. Make your choice, and fast. I may not be the best with my words, but my sword speaks for me. You will not see me come."_

Then she vanished, as quickly as she came, and the queen ran a hand down her throat, collecting the thin slip of blood there. The words rang in her head, a reminder of how far she'd come.

_I will take what is mine with fire and blood. _

But all that was in the past now. The next morning, the Queen herself had opened the gates to King's Landing, Jon standing next to her, and declared the North's independence. _We've defeated one Mad Queen, all of us united against her rule. I do not wish for the birth of another one._

The next four years had been kind to the people, and the Queen had ruled justly, putting an end to the Mad King's legacy. Jon was back in the North, advising his Queen sister next to Bran, who offered wisdom and knowledge to her rule. Arya had been sailing away, mapping lands and meeting people, until this day.

"I will get inside this castle whether you want me or not," she demanded.

The guards looked uneasy, but nonetheless agreed to escort her to their Lord's session when Ser Davos heard the commotion and came to inquire. He instantly recognised her and welcomed her inside the castle, before leading her to Gendry. The said man, seated at the head of the table, was listening to his Lords' and Ladies' demands. His hair was back to what it was when they were younger, and he was broader and stronger than she had remembered him. His beard was longer, and covered his lower face, and she stared at it lustfully, craving its feel along her body.

Upon setting his eyes on her, he immediately sat up, a gesture that did not go amiss amongst the people who wondered why their Lord faltered, and he immediately dismissed everyone in favour of speaking to her.

The next few days, servants around the castle saw them be hot and cold with each other, and the guards saw them sparring violently in the yard. Then, ladies would stare disapprovingly at their intertwined hands and lustful gases, and maidens would blush at the hushed whispers and promises they made to each other in the dead of night. The servant who brought clean water to the Lord's chambers every morning came out a week later beet red, gossiping about their naked forms, and the way the Lord's strong arms wrapped around the princesses' form possessively. She nearly dropped the buckets when Arya Stark stared at her sideways for interrupting their sleep, and she immediately ran out of there, stammering excuses.

Lord Baratheon was known for his celibacy. He had not taken any women to his bed, whores nor ladies, and had refused every marriage demand that came his way, no matter how far it had travelled to reach him. He had turned away the most beautiful women, the most delicate flowers, and the richest and strongest alliances. Many thought him to favour men, like his uncle Renly had, but it was quickly dismissed when the rumours about his improper relationship with the youngest Stark woman had risen amongst the castle.

"There are whispers, my lord," said Ser Davos once day.

Gendry merely shrugged, hunched over his letters. He had no use for gossip. "Then let them be."

The rumours escalated when the Queen in the North visited, accompanied by her two brothers and Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick, newly knighted for his services to his Queen. They heard the Queen screaming at her sister about their Lord.

Sansa had stumbled upon them in the forge when she was looking for her sister. Arya had been perched atop one of the tables, Lord Baratheon's head disappearing between her legs. Sansa had blushed from head to toes, nearly covering her ears at the long whines and whispers leaving her younger sister's mouth.

"What would mother say?" shouted the redhead.

"Mother in not here now," said Arya, staring daggers at her sister.

"It's improper! Tell her, Jon, tell her how it would look to other Lords and Ladies!"

Jon, who had refused to be legitimized as a Targaryen and remained their brother by name, looked lost for a moment. "I don't think it's my place to tell Arya how to behave. She knows and had seen much more than I have."

Sansa gasped indignantly, and Arya almost laughed at how much it reminded her of the prim and proper young Lady Sansa had been in their younger days, and how upset she would be at her sister's words and boyish appearance. She knew that Sansa was not as offended by what she had seen as she claimed to be; she was only bewildered at how much Arya had grown.

"I hope for your sake that you still have your maidenhead," said Sansa, frowning at her sister's confidence and lack of concern.

"I gave it to him years ago, your Grace. I believe that we're far from that now," she revealed, a smirk on her face.

Arya nearly doubled over at the expression on her sister's face after the reveal.

"But, how will you marry now?" Sansa stuttered. "You're a lady! A lady does not lay with men she is not married to!"

"Gendry is one man, the only man for me," sneered Arya, "and I love that man. Besides, I'm not a lady. You're the Queen in the North. You need to worry about finding a husband for yourself first, or to take your head out of your ass and fuck your knight. Don't take your frustrations out of me, take them out on Podrick. I'm _sure_ he would be happy to oblige his Queen."

Sansa wanted to scream, and Jon looked disapprovingly at his sister's choice of words. "Arya!"

"I've noticed how you looked at him. I can't blame you, they say that he makes any lady scream his name."

The Queen stuttered, her blush expanding over her chest. She hated how observant and honest Arya had become. She had always been that way, but since her exile, she had become even worse. The things she had seen had clearly shaped her into the ruthless woman standing before her, and she sometimes ached for her naïve and annoying little sister back into her life.

Sansa huffed at Arya, and turned away to leave the room, leaving Arya cackling away and Jon smiling at the exchange. "Be easy with her. She hasn't known any love from a man like you have."

"She had only known violence," replied Arya, suddenly sombre at his words. "I think Podrick would treat her well. He looks at her like he is but the dirt under her feet."

Jon laughed at that. "Don't be so cruel. He is merely intimidated by his Queen."

The next day saw Sansa knocking at Lord Baratheon's chambers. Her sister welcomed her in, dressed in her lover's tunic, and Sansa forced herself to not comment on the impropriety of her sister laying with a man she was not married to. Thankfully, the Lord of this castle was not present in his chambers. He had been called earlier to a meeting with some Lord who claimed he needed funding for his lands.

"I hope you're drinking a lot of moon tea," she spoke.

Arya smiled sadly, thinking of the scars littering her abdomen. "I have no need for it. I will not see any heirs to my name."

Sansa looked away guiltily, recalling how she had nearly drowned herself in moon tea she had secretly brewed when she had been married to Ramsay Bolton. "How-how is it?"

"How is what?" asked Arya, picking up her discarded clothes from the floor of Gendry's chambers. They were their chambers now, she supposed. She hadn't been in hers in weeks.

"To be with him, to be loved unconditionally by a man. He waited years for you to be back, you know. He would write me all the time, asking about your whereabouts. It took me a while to understand that he was in love with you. I thought he was merely worried about his friend's sister."

Arya was silent for a moment. "Having his love, it's-it's more than I ever wished for. I never wanted to be with a man. I only wanted to fight and go on adventures. He made me realize that I could be both. I lost myself along the way, but he was always the constant, he brought me back."

Sansa eyed the various marks of Gendry's and Arya's lovemaking littering her sister's skin, fidgeting at the lust rising within her at the thought of having a man worship every part of her body. Gendry had been thorough with her sister. She could see red, blue and yellow on Arya's neck and chest, even along her legs and her inner thighs, which would be revealed every time Arya would bend to pick up a discarded shirt. The thought of Gendry between Arya's legs brought her back to last night, when she had stumbled upon them, the Lord of Storm's End brought to his knees, lapping away at her sister.

"And to lay with him?" said Sansa, envious. "I saw the way you looked in the forge. You were enjoying it. I can't imagine the act itself bringing pleasure to a woman. Besides, I've never heard of a man doing…_that_ to a woman."

Arya nearly laughed, recalling how spent she was every night. "My dear sister, Gendry asks me what I like. He _demands_ to know how I want him to touch me. He does things to me that would make a whore blush, and I've seen things that you cannot imagine during my travels. Gendry would not lay his hands on me without my consent. If he were any other way, I would not lay with him every night."

"_Every night_?" exclaimed Sansa, scandalized and yet intrigued.

Arya nodded, pleased by her sister's inquiry. "If I have pleasure at my disposition, I find use of it. I used to lay awake for hours, thinking of the past. Now, I am far too tired to even move."

"Oh my," said Sansa, her hand on her mouth.

Arya laughed at how much Sansa sounded like a proper and prim Lady. "Do you need some advice?" she teased.

"No, I would not know who to use them on anyway," replied Sansa, bashful. "Besides, it would be improper."

"You have a knight who follows you like a lost puppy," suggested Arya. "Besides, _fuck_ propriety. You've suffered enough, dear sister. You deserve to know love and pleasure. You deserve to lay with a man and only feel the good in it, nothing of the bad."

Sansa nodded, biting her lip, before standing and hugging her sister tightly. "I'm happy he loves you. I can see that he would do anything for you, and you deserve that. You deserve all the love."

Sansa left, thinking of the knight who stood by her side through all of it, and left Arya behind.

_He would do anything for me, would I do anything for him?_

The thought kept running through her mind. Every time she would look at her smith, the smile on his face spoke volumes about his devotion for her. He wanted her happy, and she knew that it came above all else. If she asked him to give up his lordship right now, he would do so in a heartbeat. He would probably go to war for her, just like his late father did for her aunt Lyanna. But was he satisfied with having her lay with him every night, or was it not enough? Did the whispers bother him? She could never give him any heirs, and she felt like she was preventing him from having the family he had always wanted to have. There were plenty of ladies, proper and beautiful ladies, who would happily become ladies of Storm's end and provide him with one kid after the other. The seed was strong in the Baratheon family, and she had no doubts that he would father a small army if he really wanted to. However, every night, he would come back to her. Despite her brutish and boyish nature, he would not look at any other women. He would look at her like she put the stars in the sky. He may have not been good with words, but she was the apple of his eye, the storm in his heart; he would tell her -and _show_ her as much every night. But his eyes longed for more. She saw it in the way he would intertwine their hands and stare at her bare fingers, in the way he would run a hand along the scars on her _flat_ stomach.

She may not be able to give him heirs, but she could give him everything else.

The revelation hit her like a sledgehammer, and next thing she knew, she was storming inside the council room, breathless and dishevelled. Gendry looked at her as she walked up to him, determined and decided, and got on her knees in front of her seated lover. Every Lord and Lady present at his table peered on, and her siblings watched her in disbelief, Bran staring motionlessly with a hint of a smile on his knowing face.

"You asked me years ago to be the lady of Storm's End, and I told you I was no lady. I had no desire to sit around knitting and looking proper and pretty. But I can be your family. I want to be your family, if you'll have me."

"Arya," he whispered, awestruck, ignoring the whispers around him about a lady getting on her knees for a man.

"I selfishly lay with you every night, not knowing how it makes you feel," she continued, ignoring the scandalized gasp to her right. "I may not be able to give you the heirs you want, but I want us to wed."

"Anyone can be an heir," he replied. "But no one else can be right for me the way you are. Of course, I will be your family. There's nothing I want more in this world than to be by your side."

Then she kissed him; she kissed him and lapped at his love like a parched man tasting water for the very first time. It was silent for a moment, and then, an applause rose in the room. Soon, it became deafening, but Arya could only _think_, _smell_, _breathe_, and _hear_ Gendry. _Gendry Gendry Gendry_.

"To the Lord and Lady of Storm's End!" shouted Jon, followed Ser Davos and others echoing him, the sound deafening. Arya smiled into Gendry's mouth, her hands cradling his face, and his hands in her hair. When they ran out of air, she placed her forehead on his, and smiled at him, her cheeks red with pleasure.

"You're my family," she whispered.

They were married three moons later, in the Godswood at Winterfell, in front of the Weirwood tree where Arya had defeated the Night's King. It was poetic, she supposed, that she had decided to live for the rest of her life next to this man in the same place she had killed death itself.

The Queen of the six kingdoms was there, and when they sat at the feast after their union, she nodded at her, a hint of understanding in her eyes, a reminder of that night she had spoken reason into her. Despite Daenerys' differences with Sansa, many saw them speaking to each other. They had been civil, even pleasant, and Arya thought that queenship had become a middle ground for them; an area of understanding.

She did not miss the way Daenerys and Jon kept stealing glances at each other throughout the night, nor when Sansa disappeared from the festivities, leading her flustered knight away by the hand after nearly draping herself across him throughout the night. By the flush on the Queen's face, and the glass of wine never leaving her hand, she guessed that her dear sister had used some of that liquid courage to seek the love and pleasure she had always wanted. She was happy that her relationship with Gendry would push her sister to be selfish for once, and to throw propriety out of the window for the remainder of the night.

They lain together for hours that night, her and her husband, but it felt different from every other night. She knew that they would be back in Storm's End in a fortnight, but she couldn't help but to think that no matter where she found herself, she knew that it would be home as long as her smith was by her side.

_He was hers, and she was his._

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_

_I finally got over my frustrations with the finale and wrote this in two hours, just fucking typing away my hopes and dreams until I felt better._

_Leave a review!_


End file.
